A California Lunatic in Hogwarts Castle
by Wayward Prime
Summary: Well well well...Like many a self-insert fic before, I go to Hogwarts. But I'm not a wizard. Yup, I'm a muggle. Instead, I shall launch a glorious Crusade of American values and...eh, no. Hilarity ensues? Rated M for language.


Hey, you! No, I'm talking to the shrubbery. Yeah, I'm talking to you. Who else? Ach, it doesn't matter. What matters is what I'm about to tell you. No, it is not a life and death situation; that comes later. Basically, it's the story of how a humble muggle schlub like me ended up at the most infamous academy for youngsters this side of…somewhere. The story of how I was surrounded by a bunch of heretic-wizard folk in the UK.

"It was just another day in Eagle-land. Ah, the good ol' USA. Anyways, I was just doing normal seventeen year old stuff: bitching about my first world problems. But that's not important. What's important is that I saw an owl. Not just any owl; a big, brown monstrous creature. A great horned owl to be precise. While pondering what in the hell an owl was doing near my house, let alone in broad daylight. Sadly, the poor bird flew right into my window.

"What the hell was that?" I said. Thankfully it was the front. If it had been in the back, well…my dog kills things. Not on purpose, he's just a good doggie-woggie that can kill critters. Uh, back on track. Anyways, I see the owl. I go up to it with a shovel, afraid I'm gonna have to scoop up the poor bastard. Then, I notice it's still alive. 'Cept it's kinda, you know, twitching.

"Fuck. Do I call animal control?" I wondered aloud. Suddenly, the owl stood up, startling me. "Gah!" The owl then holds up a leg, and I notice something tied to it. Dreading what's coming next, I crouch down to more easily untie the letter. Before I do so, I look him square in the eye.

"If you bite or scratch me, I will whack you over the head with this shovel."

"Hoot." Sighing, I take the letter. It does indeed say Hogwarts on it.

"I'm definitely sleep deprived." Taking the letter, I scan the loopy, tilted script.

"_Dear Mr. _[REDACTED],_ it pleases me to announce that you have been selected as a part of a brand new sort of adventure. You see, magic exists in this world. As a non-magic user, you have been selected to visit our school, so as to help our students better understand the ways of muggles. In addition, I feel it best for the students that they receive education in national cultures as well. Along with this, I feel you can learn a great deal from us as well. I look forward to hearing your reply._

_Sincerely, _

_Albus Dumbledore." _

"This isn't a joke, is it Mr. Owl?" I said. A happy hoot seemed to confirm this, and the owl tried hopping closer. Amused. I stared at this display of affection from the little guy. Then, my indecision facilities kicked in. I stood there awhile, not sure what to do. Do I go on the adventure of a lifetime, meet new friends, and go to exotic new places? Or, do I stay at home, get a solid education, go to a good college, work, then die? Hmm… To make a long story short, I chose to come here."

I'm sitting in a cushy train compartment as I take in the skeptical glance of one Hermione Granger. Sixteen years old, bushy brown hair. She and her other friends are staring, unsure of what to make of me. I see one boy, black haired, wearing glasses with a lightning bolt scar. The other is a ginger, who seems to fill in the role of sidekick. Finally, Miss Granger speaks.

"That doesn't seem likely…I mean, why would Hogwarts summon a muggle to the grounds, much less an _American_?" Fighting back my jingoist tendencies, I merely shrug.

"Dunno. I tell it as it happened, ma'am. Besides, I know all your fates…"

"What?" ask the trio, curious.

"Never mind. I'm still trying to figure out how I'm still seventeen, even though this is what, '96, and I received the letter in 2013." More confusion. Thankfully, they're wise enough not to pursue the subject further. Trying to make conversation, I ask

"What's the exchange rate between wizard money and U.S. Dollars?" Blank stares from Ron and Harry. I can tell Hermione is calculating. "Eh, on second thought, never mind. What need have I for money in a society where most material needs can be solved with magic to begin with?"

"If you're an American, where's your cowboy hat?" asks Ron. I can see Hermione's indignation at Ron's ignorance, while Harry tries to stifle a snicker. I don't feel mad; too many dumbasses back home. Nevertheless, I can't resist the opportunity to screw with him.

"I left it back home at the ranch. Right next my shrine to George Bush, McDonald's dispenser, and bald eagle pen."

"Really?" he asks with earnest. Facepalm.

"He's just wanking you around Ron," says Harry. The Chosen One. The stuff of prophecies.

"So…do you two take any interest in muggle world affairs?" I ask Harry and Hermione. Hermione affirms this, while Harry remains relatively ambivalent. Remembering the Dursleys, I decide not to pursue the subject further.

"So…" begins Harry.

"Jack."

"So, Jack. How are you going to deal with the possible threats at Hogwarts without a wand?" Ah. A good question.

"Well you see, I was wondering that myself. Then, I received deliverance from above. Salvation came from the POPE."

"Pope? You're a papist?"

"Yes, but that's not the point." Rummaging around in my backpack, I pull out a true American classic: A Colt M1911. "Now. This here is a thing of American beauty. However, I call if the POPE because of something really cool. Instead of firing normal .45 rounds, it fires energy bullets of a sort. And it never runs out. Ever. The Pistol Of Perpetual Energy. POPE." I grin. "This is a blessing for me, since I'm not the best shot. Infinite ammo? No problem." As Harry and Ron ogle the weapon, I can see the gears turning in Hermione's head. "Listen, I have no idea how it works either," I admit to her. She's about to respond when a new voice enters the compartment.

"What is this? A bloody muggle?" I see a blond-haired pretty boy enter, flanked by two gorillas.

"Malfoy," the Golden Trio and I all hiss at the same time.

"Very good," he sneers. "You've taught your Yankee monkey to recognize its master."

"The only monkey I see here are your two goons, dickhead," I say. His eyes narrow. He pulls out his wand.

"Don't you dare talk to me, you bloody muggle!"

"Or what? It's a _stick_. It might be a magic stick, but it's a stick. This," I flourish the POPE. "This is a gun. A _magic _gun. And I don't have to say anything to make it work." Silence. The drama and tension build. Seeking to creep him out, I employ a traditional strategy of mine: I lick my lips in a seductive manner. It works.

"Come on, you two." The bishounen and his gorillas leave. Immediately, I feel respect emanating from the Golden Trio.

"You sure showed him," said Ron.

"Yeah," Harry agrees. "He's a bloody git."

"Couldn't agree more. It's too bad for that git that I don't know when to back down to dicks like him." Surveying my surroundings, I note the sun is still bright and shiny. I turn to the others. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll take a nap. Please though, wake me if there's food or an imminent attack."


End file.
